


Emordnilap

by Dawn on ICE (Dawn_Blossom)



Series: reverse, reverse [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, also just so you know this fic only covers from the GPF until Victor shows up in Hasetsu, but victor is still a top skater it's just that yuuri is even better, he doesn't know it but victor idolizes him, reverse au, yuuri still has a crush on victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn%20on%20ICE
Summary: 27-year old, five-time consecutive gold medalist Yuuri Katsuki is planning on retiring after his disgraceful performance at the Sochi Grand Prix FInal.Victor Nikiforov is a better skater than him (the skating community says otherwise, but what do they know?) and therefore it does NOT make sense for him to show up in the onsen and declare that he's going to be Yuuri's student.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: wow I have two huge midterms next week, I'd better study  
> my brain: but you haven't thought about Yuri on Ice in two whole seconds  
> me: shit you're right... I'll just come up with a couple of ideas...  
> *writes 3k words*
> 
> Haha, um, so, hi everybody! Look, I know there are about 100000 Reverse AUs (and they're all so good??? every time I read one I'm like THIS is my favorite, but then I read another one and no THIS one is, but then I read another and... man, I just love all the Reverse AUs...) so I really appreciate you taking the time to read this one! I decided to write it because, despite all the Reverse AUs I've read, I couldn't find any that retained Yuuri's admiration of Victor's skating (not to mention his huge crush, which I live for). So, yeah, that was my motivation.
> 
> At some point I hope to write Victor's POV, because of course Yuuri is everyone's favorite SUPER unreliable narrator (not that Victor's POV would be any more reliable... just different), so... I dunno, I'm marking this as part of a series. Maybe I'll get around to writing it eventually (NOT now, I really do have midterms to study for, haha...)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I've written!

Yuuri Katsuki, the 27 year old, five-time consecutive gold medalist at the Grand Prix Final, winner of countless Olympic medals, top Japanese skater and, some would argue (though Yuuri himself would protest), top skater in the world, has just made the worst mistake of his life. A career-ending mistake. A mistake that he knows will leave his family, his country, and his fans worldwide completely disappointed in him as a skater, as a public figure, as a person. Yuuri knows he’s let them all down.

He doesn’t even have a good excuse. He isn’t injured, though that’s what people will suspect. Physically, he’s in top form. Mentally, though, he’s weak. He’s so weak, he’s always been weak, and he should have known that he couldn’t keep pretending otherwise.

And now, everything’s crashing down, all because his dog died.

Well, it’s not _just_ that his dog died, although his heart sinks every time he thinks about it. No, this event was just the spark that set the kindling he’d been piling up his whole life ablaze.

He hasn’t been home in nine years, rarely talking to his family except on special occasions. Holidays, birthdays, sometimes on especially momentous competitions, like when he took his first Olympic gold. The loss of his dog ( _his_ dog, the one his parents had gotten for _him,_ and the one who he had utterly abandoned to go chase his dreams, just like how he abandoned the rest of his family) shook him in a way he just couldn’t recover from. First it was his dog, what next? His mother? His father? Mari? Or his friends Yuuko and Takeshi, who still sent him a picture of them and their triplets every year along with warm words of encouragement despite the fact that Yuuri never called? It’s been nine years already since he’s seen them. What if nine turns to 15, to 50, to a lifetime without ever seeing them again? 

_’I should have retired two years ago,’_ he thinks bitterly. 

He had wanted to, but Celestino had convinced him to stay, convinced him that he still had something to offer the world with his skating. And he had listened to his coach, because Celestino would never lie to him, and if he could still see something in Yuuri then it must be there.

But Celestino couldn’t have predicted this. It wasn’t his fault that Yuuri was a complete mess who just happened to look collected on the outside. So collected, in fact, that even Yuuri himself had managed to convince himself that Yuuri-the-mess was just a vestige of the past.

But now, looking down at his phone after the results have been announced, Yuuri realizes that he’s been holding on to an illusion of confidence this whole time. It’s a miracle it managed to last this long. He really should have retired already.

He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until Celestino rests a supportive hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t read those things, Yuuri,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “We’ll talk about what happened later, but if you go on the internet right now I’m afraid you’ll only look for the worst.”

Which is exactly what Yuuri was planning to do. He needs to know what people are saying about him, even if it hurts. It’s what he always does after a competition; he spends hours searching for the criticism, for what he could do better. Normally, he has to surf through the positive comments, too, but he can’t imagine there will be any of those this time.

“Would it be better for you if I held on to your phone for a while?” Celestino asks. “You don’t have to hurt yourself like this, Yuuri.”

The genuine concern in Celestino’s tone only pains Yuuri more, though. Making his coach worry is not something that he’s ever wanted to do. Yuuri can barely control himself, but if he breaks down in front of Celestino, it will only make him worry more, so Yuuri takes hold of what little strength he’s managed to hold on to and stands up, placing his phone into his pocket.

“No, it’s fine,” Yuuri says, forcing the words around the ache in his throat. “Please excuse me,” he adds before his throat constricts even further.

It’s not as if he’s unfamiliar with crying, or even crying in public, though it’s been years since he’s had to sequester himself in a bathroom stall like he’s doing now.

His face is hot and he’s burning to cry, but before he gets a chance, his phone rings. He pulls it out in a panic only to see his mother’s name on the screen.

Of course she’d have to call right now, of all times.

He wishes suddenly that his phone’s battery would die, but alas, he can’t be that lucky. The battery is at a strong 92 percent, and he curses himself for not using it more, like Phichit does. Phichit’s phone is constantly dying, to the point that he’s taken to carrying around an extra battery for emergencies.

The phone rings again, and Yuuri wonders if he would be able to convince Celestino that he had dropped it in the toilet on accident and no, of course it had nothing to do with him feeling bad about his performance and it’s really not a big problem. He doubts it.

By the third ring, Yuuri’s run out of ideas, but he has managed to catch his breath a little, so he reluctantly picks up.

“… Hello,” he says, trying to sound like he isn’t in a bathroom stall on the brink of tears.

“Oh, you were watching… All of Hasetsu was watching? I see…” Yuuri swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to think about the residents of his hometown seeing him like that. But then, it was a publicly televised event. Millions of people saw him like that. There’s nothing he can do.

“Yes, I, uh… certainly did do a spin. You and dad liked that part? Uh, thank you…”

Sometimes Yuuri forgets that his parents have absolutely no idea about anything regarding skating. They aren’t disappointed, but only because they don’t know anything about jumps, about scoring. All they know is that the three highest scorers get medals, and everyone else goes and tries again. 

And normally, Yuuri doesn’t mind that they don’t understand. But today, he can’t bear to listen to his mom speak as if he hadn’t just destroyed everything he had ever worked for in his life. 

“Mom,” he cuts in before he has to listen to any more well-meaning remarks that torture him further. “I’ve been thinking... I should come home. To… To pay my last respects… Yes.”

Her response is warm and affectionate, because she doesn’t realize that he’s actually coming home in disgrace and therefore doesn’t deserve comfort.

“I don’t know when, but… I’ll… I’ll come home soon,” he says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he hangs up. He’s sorry for everything, really.

He crams the phone back into his pocket as the tears he’s been fighting off finally get a chance to free themselves. He’s glad he’s alone, because sobs rack his body and he can’t keep himself quiet.

But apparently that’s more than he is allowed to have, because he hears the door open as someone else steps in. 

The stranger’s footsteps stop abruptly right in front of Yuuri’s stall, and suddenly there’s a loud banging on the door.

It’s only the shock that prevents him from sobbing again, but he quickly grabs some toilet paper and wipes at his face. It will be obvious that he’s been crying no matter what, but maybe this is better than nothing. Or maybe it isn’t, but at least it gives him a second to think about what he’s going to say.

“S-Sorry,” is what his brilliant mind comes up with. Then he has to do a double take, because he realizes that he recognizes this guy. Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian Junior gold medalist. Well, what’s a little more embarrassment on top of everything?

Yuri Plisetsky stands still for a second, a stricken expression on his face, but then it immediately contorts into rage.

“Is this all you are now? Pathetic!” he yells, getting up in Yuuri’s face. “If you’re going to be like this, just retire already! I’ll take your place as the best Yuri in the senior division. Stay out of my way, loser,” he growls, stomping out of the bathroom furiously.

Yuuri watches him leave without a word. Now that he’s cried, he feels tired and numb, unable to react properly to anything that Yuri has said to him.

The one thing that sticks in his head is that Yuri Plisetsky is going to take his place in the senior division.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Yuuri’s just another competitor, in the end. New skaters will rise to take his place. It’s only natural. The sport doesn’t need him. He can just leave.

Somewhere beneath the numbness, his heart aches, but his mind feels relief.

* * *

Yuuri hates talking to reporters. He always has. Even on a good day, he feels nervous, especially if the interview isn’t scripted. But today? Yuuri just wants to disappear. 

The only reason he pushes himself is because he doesn’t want to disappoint everyone any more than he already has. If the media needs comments from Yuuri Katsuki, then he will give them that. It’s the least he can do, since he couldn’t give them a good performance and he’s never going to be able to again.

As he’s talking, though, his mind drifts, and he only snaps back to attention when he hears his name being called.

But when he turns around, he realizes that it’s not him, but Yuri Plisetsky who is being spoken to. Victor Nikiforov, who finally took his first Grand Prix Final gold after years of bronze and silver, is speaking to his younger rinkmate.

Yuuri tries not to feel too disappointed. Why would Victor Nikiforov want to talk to him? They’ve shared the podium numerous times over the years, but they’ve never exchanged more than polite greetings.

And that’s Yuuri’s fault, really. Victor is a friendly, warm person. It’s not his fault that Yuuri runs like a coward every time they meet.

In truth, Yuuri really likes Victor. Yuuri respects all of his competitors, of course, but there’s something about Victor that he _admires,_ something that makes Victor stand out in a sea of talent and really, truly shine above the rest, even above Yuuri himself (even if others disagree… after all, most people consider Yuuri to be the better skater, and he _is_ older than Victor by four years. But have they seen Victor Nikiforov skate? Have they? Because Yuuri would sell all of his gold medals if he could have just an ounce of that grace.)

Yuuri can still remember the first time he saw Victor skate. It wasn’t in person, unfortunately. Rather, Yuuri had been watching the Junior World Championships with Phichit on his too-bright laptop screen (because he couldn’t find it airing on any of the TV channels they got in America). 16-year old Victor Nikiforov had skated his way right to a gold medal, and 20-year old Yuuri Katsuki had been captivated.

It wasn’t _what_ Victor had skated as much as it was _how_ he had skated. It was fluid. It was beautiful. It was _art._ And for Yuuri, who had been feeling down after a string of barely-placed victories, it was a reminder of what skating had always meant to him. Victor Nikiforov was an _inspiration_ to him, and when he finally took a gold medal at the Grand Prix Final, he assumed it was only a matter of time before Victor would come take it from him.

And it irritates him that Victor never took gold before. He had stood next to Yuuri on the podium many times, but it was always Yuuri with the gold. And even now that Victor was finally able to get the gold he deserves, Yuuri knows that there will be detractors. “Yuuri Katsuki made a mistake,” they’ll say. “Victor Nikiforov wouldn’t have won gold otherwise.” It’s a lie that Yuuri will have to try his best to dispel. Oh, if only he were better at communicating! Then the press would understand that Yuuri was happy to see Victor win, and Victor would know himself, because Yuuri could tell him, and… 

He must have been staring at Victor for too long, because Victor looks up. Their eyes meet, and Yuuri sees a flash of surprise flicker over Victor’s features.

Victor opens his mouth, and for a second, Yuuri almost thinks that he’s going to say something, but then he closes it without a word.

Yuuri tries to brush off the irrational pain he feels and quickly turns away. The reporter he had been talking to calls after him as he walks out of the building, but Yuuri doesn’t say anything more.

* * *

Yuuri has never really enjoyed a banquet before. They’ve always been stuffy affairs, and Yuuri’s always hated trying to balance impressing sponsors on one hand with not embarrassing himself on the other.

“Well, FUCK the sponsors, this’s the REAL me,” Yuuri slurs out after consuming his tenth or so flute of champagne.

He can feel a pair of eyes boring into him, and he whips his body around to face their owner. Surprisingly, it’s Yuri Plisetsky, who looks a whole lot less angry than he did when they met in the bathroom.

“Hey,” he calls, waving to the teenager. Yuri looks around in surprise, then his face morphs into a more familiar scowl as he comes forward.

“I never thought I’d see Yuuri Katsuki act like this. Disgusting,” Yuri practically hisses.

Yuuri laughs.

“Doncha think you’re a little young t’be so serious?” he asks. Suddenly, he feels bad for the younger skater. Yuuri’s gonna retire, so he’ll finally be free, but this poor fellow’s gonna have years of boring parties ahead of him. “These things don’t get better, y’know. Have a little fun while ya can. I know, how ‘bout a dance, huh? I can do _all_ the dances.”

Yuri narrows his eyes. 

“I bet I can do them better,” he says slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so shitfaced you’d fall straight over."

“’Zat a challenge?” Yuuri asks, straightening his posture confidently. “Le’s go, then. This’s gonna be the best dance-off the banquet’s ever seen.”

“I’ll show you what real moves look like, loser,” Yuri taunts, and somehow they get people to clear enough space for them to go at it.

Yuri puts up a pretty good effort, but Yuuri was a dancer before he ever skated, and he wasn’t kidding about knowing _all_ the dances.

Yuuri doesn’t even look up this time when he hears Victor Nikiforov call his name. 

_’He doesn’t mean **you,** '_ he thinks, and he’s proud of himself for remembering this time.

But then Yuri smacks him in the shoulder.

“Do you just hate his guts or something? He’s said your name like five times already,” Yuri complains.

“What?” Yuuri asks slowly, sure that he must be missing something in his alcohol-induced stupor. “Isn’t he calling for you?”

Yuri stares at him for several seconds, then he scowls.

“No, he calls me Yura,” he grumbles.

Yuuri can hardly process this information, but even if he’d had the chance to try, it would have been wasted, because Victor finally makes his way through the small crowd that had gathered to watch the dance-off, and he steals all of Yuuri’s focus, anyway.

“Hi, Yuuri! I see you’ve met Yura!” Victor says cheerfully. “He’s a lucky guy to get to dance with you. You don’t normally dance at these events, do you?”

Yuuri feels a bit terrible, because of course Victor’s been to almost as many boring banquets as Yuuri himself has.

“Do you wanna dance with me, too?” Yuuri suggests, maybe a bit too hopefully. “You’re right, I don’t normally do this. It’s… It’s a… special occasion,” Yuuri explains, giggling.

“Really?” Victor questions, a faint pink tinge coloring his cheeks. “I’d love to dance with you,” he continues quickly, and Yuuri beams with happiness.

Yuri growls something at Victor in Russian before turning to Yuuri. “I’m coming back for a rematch, so don’t you dare let him exhaust you,” he demands.

Yuuri laughs.

“Nooo problem. See ya, Yuraaaaa,” he says, drawing out Yuri’s nickname. Are they close enough for that? Definitely not, but it’s weird to address someone else with your own name, so he’ll have to deal with it if he wants that rematch.

But at any rate, Yuri leaves him alone with Victor, and then Victor’s all he wants to think about.

Dancing with Victor is not at all like dancing with Yuri. With Yuri, he was competing. With Victor, it’s more like… completing. When Yuuri leads, Victor complements him perfectly, and when Victor leads, it’s Yuuri who matches him step for step. Before Yuuri even realizes it, they’ve already done three dances, and he thinks it might be the most fun he’s ever had, ever.

“I’m having fun, too, Yuuri,” Victor says with a laugh, and that’s when Yuuri realizes that he probably shouldn’t be saying his thoughts out loud when he isn’t alone.

“Are you planning to do this next year, too?” Victor continues, his eyes bright.

“I won’t be there next year,” Yuuri says, grinning. “But you can keep up the tradition if you want.”

He laughs, but then he notices that Victor’s expression has frozen on his face.

“What do you mean… you won’t be there…?” Victor asks slowly.

“I’m retiring,” Yuuri explains. Maybe Victor’s had too much alcohol, too, because he looks like he doesn’t understand at all. “It’s about time, don’tcha think? The press’s been nagging me ‘bout it for years.”

Victor shakes his head quickly. His eyes are so full of pain that anyone would think Yuuri had just personally murdered his puppy… (and then Yuuri thinks of his own dog, and he’s grateful he’s too giddy with champagne to cry).

“You can’t let them bully you out of the sport! Nobody wants you to leave!” Victor protests.

Yuuri thinks about it, though, and actually, he’s pretty sure there are plenty of skaters who want him to leave. Hell, Victor would be in a better position if he left, wouldn’t he? He tries to explain this, but it doesn’t go very well, and somehow or another he finds himself more or less clinging to Victor.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Victor says quietly, and Yuuri wishes he could erase the pain from his features. “I would miss you.”

Yuuri can’t think of a single good reason for Victor to miss him, but he doesn’t want Victor to be sad, so he tries his best to pat him on the shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yuuri says. “You can come visit me in Japan. My family runs an onsen! It’s really great. You should come.”

He giggles and presses himself closer, and he’s pleased when it makes Victor’s sad expression melt away.

“Hey, I got an idea!” Yuuri exclaims, because he’s just thought of the best idea in his whole entire life. “You lookin’ for a new coach, Victor? You’re the best skater ever, but you could be even better. I could teach you! If I win the next dance-off, you’ll do it, won’t you? Victor? Let me coach you!”

At first, Victor’s only response is a gasp. Then he swallows thickly, and then, finally, he nods.

“O-Okay.”

Yuuri’s next dance-off happens to be on a stripper’s pole, and going by how many people are cheering his name, he definitely wins.

Too bad he has no recollection of this, or any other events of the night, when he wakes up in his room the next morning.

* * *

“The triplets did WHAT?” Yuuri screeches over the phone.

When Yuuri had skated Victor Nikiforov’s “Stay Close to Me” program, it was _supposed_ to be a private performance for Yuuko’s eyes only. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have taken another skater’s program like that, but it had fit his own feelings about the end of his skating career so _well,_ and he had changed _parts_ of it a little, anyway, and also, in his defense, it was never meant to be posted online!

“Just kill me now,” Yuuri moans as he hangs up the phone. This is going to look bad. This is going to look like he’s bitter over Victor taking gold over him. This is going to look like he doesn’t really want to retire. The press is going to come straight to his doorstep and murder him.

As it turns out, someone else comes straight to his doorstep, too.

His first thought when he hears about the “foreigner” waiting in the bath is that he’s about to be sued for all he’s worth.

He is, therefore, completely unprepared for Victor Nikiforov to stand up, _completely naked_ and grin.

“Yuuri! I’m here to be your student!”

 _’It would have been easier to sue me,’_ Yuuri thinks dazedly.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please tell me if I made any glaring errors and I'll try to fix them! (Unless the errors can't be fixed without messing up the plot, in which case please have mercy on my poor soul, but they'll have to stay.)


End file.
